I Knew Your Father
by xxDibDabxx
Summary: AU Sylar goes in search of his father - both of them - but he soon discovers something much better. A precious treasure he must have, even if it does distract him. A treasure in the form of a waitress in a highway cafe. Not Sylar/OC! One-shot.


**I Knew Your Father**

**A/N: Not Sylar/OC, as it seems in the summary. AU set after series two, but, before series three. After Sylar has come back after the fire at Primatech, he goes in search of his father. The most most obvious answer to that problem? Molly. Just a one-shot that had been bugging me to write for a while. Enjoy, and don't forget to review! Warning: Syler is a bit of a psyco...**

Stirred the plastic stirrer around his mug of black coffee idly, his eyes watched in the people he shared the café room with from under his eyelashes. Lingering in the shadows in the corner, he blended away into non-existence, stalking his prey silently. He knew camouflage was the way to achieve the element of surprise, not that he needed it. People disgusted him. Pathetic, pointless men, with whining, self-centered women and shrieking children. That was what made them so glorious.

A mother soothed her crying child while chatting endlessly to her friend, and two workmen sat in the corner, eating their fill and barely speaking a word to one another. There was a very awkward atmosphere there, invisible to the naked eye, but so obvious to a person who stalked his prey. Ah, the prejudices of the world. Another man was sat by himself, choosing the middle of the room, sure to make him feel safer as he flicked through a newspaper, seeing but not reading.

Burgers crackled on the fryer, and an old cook moaned to himself. Coffee boiled, as two waitresses gabbed, much like the other two women in the room. A third waitress was sat to the side, her eyes on a book of Roman history. She took was looking but not reading, it all flying over her head. No one had true taste for good literature anymore.

Sylar, however, was more interested in the only little girl of the room. Molly Walker. She was sat at one of the booths, mashing cheesecake with a fork, while drifting in and out of another woman's rants. This woman was bleached blonde, with fake nails that were too long to be natural, and a tan that gave her the added feature that screamed 'Barbie!' A social worker without a doubt.

This was too easy.

The young girl sighed, and announced something to the older woman - who stopped in mid-sentence - and Molly slid off her seat. Sylar followed her journey until she walked into the ladies toilets. A ghastly place no one in their right mind would use, especially since they were in a highway café.

His cup still steaming, and not a drop of it drunk, he left it standing while he stood up from his chair, still unnoticed, and slunk across the room. Past the chatting woman – all of them - and the man sat alone. Past the waitress reading up on her history, and past the social worker who was eyeing the cheesecake with a longing. He stopped outside both the gents and ladies, before glancing behind. No body had even noticed.

With a slight smirk, he pushed the ladies toilet door open, feeling rather perverse. Stepping forward, he was forced to stop as the door slammed itself shut, and he heard the handle click as it was forced back up, despite his hand still holding it down. He frowned, but, try as he might, the handle would not go back down.

Raising an eyebrow, he froze as he felt a strong force cocoon around him, swirling like a spider web, until he was wrapped tightly in a mental force. He glanced down at himself, before he was hauled silently off his feet, and thrown carelessly through the door of the store cupboard, silently, which opened of its own accord, quite like the toilet door.

He snapped his head round behind him, and saw the waitress who had been studying the text book on Romans raise her eyebrow at him teasingly, before shaking her forefinger at him, her head doing the same motion. As if she were telling a child off for saying something he shouldn't. Sylar tilted his head to the side. How interesting.

Whipping her finger to the left, the door slammed shut. The last thing Slyar saw was her face, that looked surprisingly unfocused, with that eyebrow still raised. And Sylar's thought were, well, well. Isn't this a surprise?

………………………………………………………..

He was in that small pitch black room for a good few hours. He'd heard people try the handle a few times, and then complain loudly that they couldn't get in. That woman had kept the cocoon of energy around him effortlessly the whole time, and hadn't faltered for even a second. She had kept the door shut too.

The scary thing was that Sylar seemed powerless. He could feel the power inside of him being released, but he just bounced back off the field around him. It was all quite peculiar. But equally extraordinary.

Sylar waited; quite content to in fact. After all, patience was a virtue.

Eventually, the door swung open, whining as it did so. Light poured in through the open way, despite night already having settled in. The hold on him released and he flexed muscles with a frown. It was as if they were never there.

Wandering out of the tiny tomb, he caught sight of that very same waitress as she counted the money from the till. She was the only one left in the café, as the other staff and customers had left, putting the chair on the table behind them. The lights were still on, but the door was locked. This caught Sylar's attention. He merely raised an eyebrow, before brushing it aside. As if a lock could stop him.

He took a long hard glance at the woman, and found her to be nothing more then ordinary. Brittle, sun-beaten brunette hair, pulled back into a band out the way of the food. She was make-up free, but her face had the shadows of puberty-induced acne still lingering, and her hands were full of freckles, with the broken nails of hard work. Her tan was none-existent. She looked like she'd suit a farm more then a café.

She was hardly what you could call butchy. Her muscles were those typical of a young woman, and her bones were so thin, they looked like they could snap like twigs under enough pressure. She didn't look intelligent enough to become president, but, that text book certainly didn't look out of place.

Yet again, she looked almost fuzzy at the edges. Out of focus. As if she were something in the corner of your eye, and Sylar's vision kept slipping off her. How very peculiar. Shutting the till with a loud ping, she looked up to Sylar, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. With a smile, she indicated for him to take a seat on one of the stools before her. The man did so, and in return, he was given another cup of black coffee. Wonderful.

"Hello, Gabriel," the woman said, standing across the counter from him, and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Syler frowned at her, and asked,

"How do you know my name?" as she dropped a few lumps of sugar into the steaming brown liquid. She poured the cream in, then took a sip before glancing up at him and replying,

"I knew your father".

A chord was struck in the powerful man at those words. This just kept getting better and better. True, he'd lost the human locator, his chosen way of finding both his should-have-been foster father, and then his real father. But, now, he'd found something much better. Much less complicated. The question was: who was this woman?

"Is that so," Sylar continued, sipping his own drink, "And you're a telekinetic, then?"

She chuckled once, and shook her head,

"Oh no. Nothing as basic as that. You see, hon, I'm complicated," She took another swig, "I'm the defense system. I can create force fields of energy only I can create and manipulate. My bubbles, shall we call them, numb the powers of others like us, and gives me the ability to overcome them," she shrugged, "Think of the Invisible Woman out of the Fantastic Four but without the invisibility".

Sylar raised on eyebrow. How intriguing. Raising his hand, Sylar picked up one of the chairs with his mind, he hurtled it towards the woman. She didn't even glance up from her drink as she took another sip. It froze in mid air, and Sylar frowned, forcing it onwards with more force. For several minutes, the battles of the wills went on, to the point when blood dripped from the man's nose. Eventually, he gave up as the chair dropped to the ground, one of the legs flying off sideways.

The woman cleared her throat,

"So, I take it you have telekinesis then?" and Sylar smiled, wiping away the train of scarlet on his finger,

"You tell me". She smiled,

"Yes, I guess with the blocking the powers, there would come the understanding of the powers," she smiled, "Clever like your mother," she brushed away the comment, "You have 'The Hunger', Gabriel".

"You know of my parents?"

"No". She answered shortly, not leaving a heartbeat between that very answer and the question. Sylar frowned. She knew them. Obviously, she knew them. But he couldn't sense her lying. Well, how very very peculiar. She smirked, as if reading his mind, "You see, my so called 'force fields' are optional, but, I have an internal one around my mind. One I can't turn off. It blocks psychological powers. It also stops you from physically harming me, as you've already seen".

A whole new definition to the word 'invincible'.

"I can't wait to try it out," Syler replied, and she grinned.

"Then, I wish you good luck, hon. There's a reason your father ran away with his tail between his legs, and, I'm afraid, you'll have to discover the answer for that one yourself". With that, she unlocked the door, and picked up the two mugs.

It was apparent she wouldn't answer anymore of his questions, so Sylar turned and walked out the door. Tomorrow was another day.

………………………………………………..

As she stepped out of the backdoor, her arms full of black bin-bags, Sylar smiled. Taking a step forward, he opened her mouth to whisper in her ear but she beat him to it,

"Hello again," without even looking at him. Sylar blinked in surprise, and shrugged,

"Hello". She dropped the bags, and turned to face him, dusting off her hands. She smiled,

"Can I help you?" she pondered, hands on hips. With a raised eyebrow, he replied,

"Well, that's for you to decide," he stepped around her, forcing her to twist her head and follow him. He did it not for the feeling of power, of the irony of the way he seemed like a predator circling his prey, but, because this meant that more blood circulated around her neck, and into her brain. Her cushy, protected brain, "I'm just doing a little homework".

"And the library didn't have what you needed?" she replied, grinning as if she were talking to her oldest friend. She had the strangest behaviour, Sylar was almost intrigued.

"No, not what I need anyway," he stopped behind her, and leant forward, so his head was hovering above her left shoulder. She didn't turn, or even look at him. Her gaze was straight ahead, and she seemed to tilt her head to the right a bit, as if she was a damsel in distress, waiting to be bitten by a vampire, so she could join him in his eternal hell.

"I have the answers, then". It wasn't a question, but Sylar chuckled humorlessly and replied,

"You do". Now she looked at him, her eyes revealing themselves to him for the first time. Deep brown, matching her hair in a dull way, they were hollow. Rigid with a lonely emptiness that the immortals are forced to adopt, for her life would never end, not even by age. She would welcome death, but she feared it. Even that exaggerated loss of space couldn't cover us the waves of spluttering fear that ever human had for passing from this world to the next. That delicious fear.

Sylar reached out, his eyes watered with false seduction as he let his hand float around her face for a moment. He trailed her lips with his eyes, flicking up to meet her gaze every now and then. Her heart beat increased. Loneliness was her weakness, and she let him play right into it. Brushing the skin of her chin, her heart then began to flutter, and with a vicious smile, he grabbed her chin roughly in his hand.

She gasped, and his grin increased. He moved closer, an arm wrapping around her waist. She flooded with affection, and went limp in his touch. Closing the space between them, Sylar let his face hover next to her, so close to his lips. Eyes locking, she could feel his breath, and it was intoxicating.

Literally.

"You see, I picked up a nice little power from a cheerleader in Texas. Tissue regeneration. That means I can have poison lining my lungs and throat, but it won't effect me. In fact, my body will actually dispose of it from my system through my breath. Can you feel it? Even now, it is entering your system. Your heart is slowing down, and black spots are in your vision. Your body is surrendering without your permission," the emptiness gave way for pure horror, for pure fear, and she stared at him, "Can you feel it?"

Her eyelids drooped, and her breath came in long, sleepy sighs. As her eyeballs began to roll back, her knees gave way and Sylar caught her with that arm around her waist. She was conscious, but paralyzed. Picking her up, the smiling man took her further into the shadows. He lay her on one of the dumpsters, and lay her body out so she was straight. In an almost religious way.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, and they darted open at his command, causing him to smile, "Good. I want you to see this. I'm sure you'll find it enlightening".

From out of his pocket, he drew a black plastic box. Flipping it open, he revealed a needle from within the velvety lid, along with a small bottle of an unfamiliar, clear liquid. As he drained the bottle of the fluid, he spoke to her.

"This little miracle of a formula I stole from an old friend. He was a Geneticist, and was very, very familiar with the works of the human system, and brain. When injected into the body, this gets to work immediately, travelling through your blood till it reaches the brain. Once there, it slows down all your signals, to the point where you're still alive, but weak beyond belief. I imagine this will get your little field down enough for me to break through and retrieve your brain. Impressed?"

He could smell her fear, but her heart was sleeping, and her mind was unresponsive. Eyes darting about, she tried to move her mouth, but, without success. Syler removed the air from the needle, and smiled, bending down. He brushed his thumb over her neck, just at the side of her jaw, and pause to ask,

"Does poison work on you? Blink once for yes, twice for no". He smiled as she blinked once, before shrugging. The needle pierced her skin, and the liquid penetrated her system. A surge of pleasure rippled through Sylar, and his eyes blazed in the feeling. Ecstasy. As her body fought pointlessly against this intruder, her eyes tried to fill with tears, but, succeeding was not one of her stronger points.

Did she succumb? Of course.

……………………………………

Sylar raised his scarlet drenched hand, and he felt the power surge from under his skin, and wrap around the bag of filth in front of him. It rose in the air, and as he shortened the distance of the bubble, the bag squeezed smaller and smaller, until it split into atoms. Raising an eyebrow, Sylar smiled,

"How useful".

Turning around, he wandered back around the café, leaving the body of the paralyzed woman, with her brain missing, and her head sliced open. Someone would find it soon enough. He glanced down at the card in his hand. A driver's license. Her driver license. Twenty-six, 5'2 and born in east Ohio. How simple.

Jingling her car keys, he entered the tiny parking lot. Clicking the button, he opened the car and waited for the headlights to shine. A beautiful onyx BWM convertible's headlights shone and Sylar raised his eyebrows with a smile. She had style, he'd give her that.

"Thank you," he paused, checking the driver's license again, "Mercy Anderson". He thought, her name was Mercy? How ironic.


End file.
